Man of Dust
by WarlordFil
Summary: Garrus Vakarian, the self-appointed judge, jury and executioner of Omega, is forced to face the darkness in himself. A story in five vignettes. Not a romance. Rated T for cursing and disturbing content.
1. Chapter 1: To Make A Ghost

**Author's Note: **This is a dark little drama/action tale presented in five vignettes. For those who want Garrus fluff and cuddles, please check out "Where Angels Fear To Tread." This story is not a romance. It is rated T for cussing and some disturbing content.

This story is NOT set in the same universe as "Where Angels Fear To Tread." This story presumes a female Shepard with both Paragon and Renegade tendencies, but other than that, leaves Shepard open to the imagination. This story also presumes, in effect, a Renegade!Garrus, in which I took a much darker interpretation of the character than I did in "Angels." There is, in fact, a great deal of darkness in Mr. Vakarian and I feel it sometimes gets overlooked in favour of a Paragon!Garrus interpretation.

Morgan of Salerone did a wonderful job proofreading this for me. Thanks very much—the story is stronger because of it. Thanks also to MitisVenatrix for a content and theme review.

The inspiration for this story, as well as the story and chapter titles, were taken from the poem "How to Kill" by Second World War soldier Keith Douglas, and I'd strongly suggest everyone here put (Douglas "How To Kill") into Google. For those of you who don't have a background in literary analysis, the poem is about a sniper, and an examination of how he depersonalizes his target in order to take the shot. The sniper describes his job using metaphors such as a child's game of ball and a kind of sorcery—but it is a sorcery that damns him. In the end, the ease at which he takes life has robbed him of some of his own humanity.

This story is dedicated to all the real-world soldiers who've come home with wounds that don't show on the outside.

*

**Man of Dust**

**Chapter the First: To Make A Ghost**

There's a world where nothing matters, and it's not so far away.

On every street in Omega you can see at least one person who's used some kind of drug to take them there. They're all ages, all genders and all species, and they sit with their backs against cold steel walls because they're so far beyond caring that their bodies are suffering in the dirt. Whatever drove them to sample whatever it is they're on—be it curiosity or a pressure to fit in or some earlier ache in their soul—their lives belong to the crave now, and they cycle rapidly between heaven and hell, their fixes an exultation that burns them out like fireworks, their withdrawals a torment as their bodies decay while they still breathe. They burn hard and bright and then their ashes crumble into nothingness.

Alcohol is also a drug. For many it is a temporary visit to the Other Side, to that world behind this one where past and future collapse into an eternal and singular present. They consider their day-trip to be a release, a brief break from the pressures of their real lives. But for some the trips become constant, a coping mechanism for those who cannot survive in a world of genuine feeling. These are the ones who crawl into the bottle, and when the clubs kick them out they join the druggies on the street corners, begging for money and drinking what they can.

It's not just drugs that can punch your ticket. Gambling. Sex. Dancing. Violence. All of them can tear the permeable barrier between this world and the other. Any of them can open an escape hatch.

Omega is a world of trapdoors with a thousand ways to fall.

Garrus Vakarian has never known whether to call these people—the thralls of the crave—victims or criminals. They are trapped in prisons of their own making, or so he used to think, but now he realizes that some of them have been delivered to the gutters by events beyond their control. In a cold and vast universe there have to exist horrors that would bring any sane person to this state. Garrus even knows some of those horrors by name.

But inevitably too many of these victims become perpetrators themselves, driven by their crave to commit unspeakable acts in search of their next release, because the ticket to the world where nothing matters isn't a one way trip. That world is so close to this one that they fall back across the border when they sober up, when their buzz wears off, when they wake up in the hospital with a broken jaw. When the gambler runs out of money and the sex addict's wife finds him in bed with another woman. When the music stops.

That's when some of them see the edge of the razor digging into their own flesh, and they step back from the brink and face the world where things matter.

Others don't. Or can't.

For those who don't or can't, is it justice to end their lives, or is it _wrong_—or is it mercy? What is it when your need becomes so great that you would commit any atrocity to yourself or others to open a trap door just one more time?

They fall into that cycle, all of them who feel the crave. They're less drawn to it than they are shoved towards it by the monsters that loom behind them. Sometimes it's worth whatever you have to do to breathe another day.

When you hurt for things you did and can't undo. When you hurt for things you failed to do in time. When you hurt for things that were done unto you. When you hurt because you _are_. Perhaps because someone else is _not_.

That's when you need a break, just a moment, just a breath. Just a single inhalation without pain—just one good night's sleep.

Just the numbness of a world where nothing matters.


	2. Chapter 2: Dial of Glass

**Man of Dust**

**Chapter the Second: Dial of Glass**

A sniper scope encompasses infinite distance. It is a kaleidoscope, deconstructing the world, shuffling the pieces and putting them back together again in a way that Garrus can understand.

The man in the center of the crosshairs now is a turian named Thanatis. He is strolling down the street, flanked by bodyguards. There is a smaller figure at his side whom Garrus cannot see clearly from his perch on the roof of a building opposite and further down the road.

Thanatis is the kind of person who'd driven Garrus crazy during his C-Sec days. He is a criminal, and everyone knows it, but nobody can _do _anything about it because nobody has any proof. Thanatis has a whole web of underlings doing all his dirty work, and every time C-Sec raids drug labs or brothels or money laundering rings, it's always someone else's hands in the pie, and Thanatis denying any knowledge of illegal activities. Garrus knows the man has been to court twice. The first time the case was dismissed for lack of legally admissible evidence. The second time the case was thrown out when the prosecution's witnesses mysteriously disappeared. They resurfaced weeks later, face down in a harbour.

And now Thanatis is on Omega.

One week past, Garrus and his team had raided a warehouse belonging to the Eclipse gang. They'd found a big stash of red sand and a series of manifests tying the drugs back to Thanatis himself.

At first Garrus had cursed and scowled and raged because once again he knew Thanatis was guilty and once again there was no evidence that would hold up in a court. No jury who would accept the manifests as admissible.

Hell, Omega didn't even have a _legal system_ to say that a crime had been committed.

Realizing he had failed once again, Garrus had stalked out of the warehouse and up the fire escape of the neighbouring building to get some quiet time in which to think. Garrus had hefted his sniper rifle and taken a peep down the barrel, sighting out over the city just for the hell of it, when he was struck by a revelation.

He already knew Thanatis was guilty. He needed only to carry out the sentence.

Today is Judgment Day. Garrus waits for the group to come closer. He peers through the scope, sighting the bodyguards. After he shoots Thanatis, he may shoot a few of them too. They should know better than to work for a criminal. He has no doubt they know what Thanatis is doing. He has no doubt they are also involved.

Garrus' crosshairs lightly kiss the cheek of Thanatis' companion. His eyes widen.

He had been expecting an asari dancer or a sleek young turian girl. What he sees is a turian matron, an older woman, wearing the same colony tattoos as Thanatis. Even from this distance, Garrus can see the resemblance between Thanatis and the senior turian. It disturbs him.

Garrus has no doubt that Thanatis is guilty, but now his years of working for C-Sec are coming back to hobble him and stay his hand with words like _due process_ and _fair trial _and _innocent until proven guilty_.

Red tape, all of it, and he could dismiss it but for a little voice in the back of his head wondering whether any power in the universe could consider it _right _to splatter a son's brains across his mother's shoulder.

No, this is not the time, not the place. And he is no stranger to thwarted ambitions. C-Sec has given Garrus much practice in grinding his teeth and biding his time, all the while shaking with impotent anger as criminals walk free and spread their poison. His tongue is thick and dry. He wants a drink. He wants a drink, badly.

Before he goes back to his room to fight a likely futile battle against the siren song of the bars, he takes one more look down his scope, letting the crosshairs dance across Thanatis' skull.

The dial of glass deconstructs the world. Thanatis' mother falls to fragments, trickles away. Finger on the trigger. Somewhere another child sniffs up the red sand Thanatis is dealing. The kaleidoscope turns. The world falls back into place again, all colour gone.

Through the scope the world is black and white.

Garrus Vakarian pulls the trigger.

Thanatis' head falls to fragments. Blue blood splatters.

Thanatis' mother screams. Wails.

And Garrus cannot hear the bars singing to him any longer. He will sleep well tonight.


	3. Chapter 3: A Child Turning Into A Man

**Chapter the Third: A Child Turning Into A Man**

There's a boy on the bridge. He can't be more than seventeen.

Through his scope, the Archangel can see this not-quite-man brandishing a jury-rigged pistol that is more likely to explode in its wielder's face than it is to fire a shot in the direction it is pointing. Anyone who had ever gambled his life on his skill with a gun wouldn't bother with the posing: twisting the weapon sideways, spinning it around his finger, all the maneuvers that impress the ignorant and tell the knowledgeable that this kid has no idea how to use his weapon.

C-Sec would slap this kid with a fine, perhaps a night in jail and some community service. But Omega is not the Citadel and there is no such thing as community service here.

Here, this boy has stood up with mercenaries to count himself among the ranks of the Blood Pack, Eclipse and the Blue Suns, and here that simple act is crime enough.

Feather-light, the crosshairs land on the boy's face, creep across his cheek, kiss his temple.

The Citadel offers its citizens the luxury of a justice system that exists to rehabilitate. But Omega is not a land of second chances.

There is a law here beyond Aria T'loak's. It concerns those who live by the gun. To uphold this law is the justice of retribution.

The Archangel pulls the trigger. There is no sensation of guilt as the boy spins backwards, flailing and falling and forever shy of manhood now.

There is not even a question of guilt any longer.

Somewhere in the Omega night his family waits to grieve. They do not even know this time is coming.

Archangel's time is coming as well.

Those who live by the gun, die by the gun. Justice must be served.

As more mercenaries storm across the bridge, Garrus knows that he himself is not immune to this law.


	4. Chapter 4: Man and Shadow Meet

**Chapter the Fourth: Man and Shadow Meet**

Garrus Vakarian hates Thane Krios more than he thought possible.

They are complete and utter opposites. Garrus Vakarian, the crusader for justice, bringing law and order to the galaxy. Thane Krios, assassin and killer, lawbreaker, force of chaos. Shadow and light, they stare at each other across the mess hall table here in the Normandy's belly.

Garrus wishes he was in better condition for this faceoff. He has consumed the majority of the ale in the decanter. He has not had alcohol since Omega, and his head is swimming. But the crave is still not gone.

It is circling, surly, somewhere in the pit of his stomach. It is agitated because, lightyears behind them, Vigo of the Blue Suns is still on the loose. Shepard made Zaeed let him go, in order to save the workers in the refinery. Vigo is a free man and justice has not been served and Garrus feels that he has failed again. Another criminal has gotten away.

Garrus is not entirely certain that Zaeed is any better than Vigo, when it comes to that. Or Jack.

He will correct these failings. Later. Later, when the mission is done. He will promise the crave whatever it takes to make it lie down and sleep. He placates it with another glass of ale.

The whole while, Thane is watching him while delicately sipping a steaming mug of soup. Garrus wants to know how Krios can be so fucking _calm_. His stillness only increases Garrus' agitation.

Krios is a demon with a sniper rifle. Almost Garrus' equal. They are more alike than Garrus wants to think about as they stare at each other, each the mirror reflection of the other.

There is a clear line between right and wrong, black and white. Garrus stands on the white side of that border, waiting for those from the dark side to attempt to cross the line. Waiting to destroy them when they do.

Garrus defends the good from the evil. He needs to. He has to. It is his sacred calling. And all his rage, all his frustration and despair and rebellion—it needs somewhere to go, because he can't keep it in a decanter of ale forever.

Garrus had chosen to do good. Thane had, if not exactly chosen to do evil, at least accepted evil as his lot in life. He could have turned his back on his Compact and his family. Garrus knew from experience that this was both difficult and entirely possible. He had yet to find the words to explain to his fellow C-Sec officers why he had needed to leave, and he had long ago given up trying to be the kind of son his father could love.

Garrus knows what Thane told Shepard._ My body is nothing but a weapon. I did not choose to kill; those who commanded me did. The blood is on their hands. My soul slept while my body did its work._

As far as Garrus is concerned, Thane is simply dodging his responsibility in the matter, failing to see how he contributed to the problem instead of fighting it.

As far as Garrus is concerned, Thane has no business cozying up for private chats with Shepard.

Shepard's side is no place for a murderer.

Thane breaks the silence at last. "Do you have something to say to me?"

Garrus is in no mood to play nice. "I spent my life hunting killers like you. Drink your soup and leave."

"I have as much right to be here as you." Thane tilts his head. "And you are very quick to judge."

"I've heard about your philosophy and I don't buy it for an instant. We all have choices. We all have the responsibility to pick between right and wrong. You might not have chosen your targets, but you didn't refuse to kill them, either."

"I did my duty."

Garrus does not like the implications of that statement: that he has failed to do his duty. Come to think of it, he did leave the turian military. Quit C-Sec. Drop out of Spectre training. Abandon his family. Retract every oath he'd ever taken in service of a greater good.

Opt out of any organization that might ever hold him accountable for his actions.

"Your duty was _wrong_," Garrus counters.

"And you justify your deeds as though right and wrong were absolutes."

Garrus blinks, taken aback. Good and evil _were _absolutes. Right and good, wrong and evil…those were the same things—weren't they?

Kill a son before his mother's eyes to stop the flow of red sand into Omega.

Kill a bodyguard—a man just doing his job—to prevent a murderer from murdering again.

Kill a boy for calling himself a mercenary..._when had adolescent posturing become a capital offense?_ It is the first time Garrus feels anything about that boy he shot on the bridge. What he feels is not guilt, but the painful emptiness of a void where his guilt ought to be.

"If they truly were absolutes, you would not question them. But you question yourself all the time."

"Perhaps that's because if I'm falling into evil, I'd like to know about it," Garrus retorted.

"Would you?"

Garrus glares angrily at the drell. Krios, double eyelids blinking, simply gazes back, unperturbed.

"Or would you simply find a better justification?"

Garrus growls, but Thane continues. "Do not misunderstand me. I am not pretending to be an innocent here. But I know myself—my strengths, my weaknesses. My failings. Do you?"

And with that cryptic challenge, Thane Krios stands and turns his back, as though daring Garrus to shoot him. Vakarian watches the drell walk away, drinking deeply from his glass to fight the crave that tells him how easy it would be to put a bullet in Thane's back. How easy it would be to bring justice to Thane's victims—and eliminate another obstacle in Garrus' path.

But Garrus hates Thane Krios above and beyond the call of duty. Which is why he can never turn his weapons on the drell, not even after this mission is finished.

The kill would be personally satisfying in a manner that far eclipsed the satisfaction of a job well done and a universe a little bit safer at night. It would do more than simply balance the scales. To protest that he was merely eliminating a known assassin might justify his actions to everyone else, but in his heart Garrus would always know the real reason he had pulled the trigger.

Then he wonders if a little more damnation will make any difference.

Garrus stares down into his glass, finding the liquid murky and his own reflection unclear.


	5. Chapter 5: Behold A Gift

**Author's Note:** I'd like to thank everyone who's supported this story as I tried to do something a little different from the norm.

This final chapter was originally the fourth chapter, but after finishing "Man and Shadow Meet" and wondering where to go from there, I realized that this—"Behold a Gift"—was not only the fifth chapter, but the final chapter. So, here be the end. Anyone who isn't interested in a writer's thought process can just skip to the story now.

If you've ever seen a TV show, novel series, manga series, etc artificially extended beyond the needs of the story itself, you'll see how it slides into a zone between mediocrity and utter swill. After writing "Man and Shadow Meet," I realized I'd never be able to end "Man of Dust" more powerfully than this last chapter, because this is the absolute culmination of where renegade!Garrus' emotional state has brought him. To add anything further would lessen the punch of this chapter to the detriment of the entire story, and that's why "Man of Dust" ends here.

***

**Man of Dust**

**Chapter the Fifth: Behold a Gift**

He has Lantar Sidonis in his sights and _Shepard will not get out of the goddamn way_.

He knows she is trying to talk him out of it. Knows, and doesn't care. Sidonis rattles on about how _terrible he feels_, none of which means a goddamn thing to Garrus Vakarian right now. There aren't enough bad feelings in the world to bring his team back from the dead. There is no apology that can erase how it feels to be betrayed. And Sidonis has not yet felt terrible enough to make the only amends that would count: namely, to take his own life.

There is only _justice_, the end that Sidonis has coming to him, and perhaps if in the end Sidonis wishes he had kept the faith and let the mercs kill him, perhaps some measure of balance might yet be achieved.

But only if Sidonis dies.

And Shepard will not stand aside.

Garrus has not told Shepard about Thanatis' mother, wailing to the sky with bits of her son's brain splattered across her face. He has not told Shepard about the boy on the bridge. He has not told Shepard how many bodyguards he has shot through to get to his targets, or how much she looks like just another bodyguard right now.

Garrus realizes that he could take Sidonis with two bullets. The second bullet, through the traitor's head.

The first bullet, through Shepard's.

He is horrified to realize that he is even imagining such a thing, but the crave rises up in him, sharp and strong, roaring in his ears, hazing over his vision with purple red. His senses distort; his surroundings become hyper-real. Sounds intensify, as though a god had turned up the volume on the entire world. Colours pop. The metallic scent of his rifle fills his nostrils when he inhales. His mandibles tremble. His finger quivers on the trigger.

Sidonis has to die. No matter what. _At any cost_.

The kaleidoscope turns. Shepard shatters. The world reformulates, black and white, nothing in his scope but Sidonis and a single obstacle separating him from Garrus' bullet and the justice he so richly deserves.

An obstacle, so easily removed…

He begins to squeeze the trigger.

_Shepard Shepard Shepard_

Garrus tries to force colour back into his world, to reverse that kaleidoscope and see Shepard again. He focuses on her, and what she means to him. His only friend. His saviour. He jerks his finger free of the trigger. The obstacle slowly regains Shepard's face. Loses it. Regains it again.

Garrus' whole body shakes, because Shepard is so very close to being dead again and he does not know how much longer he can fight the crave.

"Just tell him to go," he says into his comm. His voice seems to come from miles away.

He hears Shepard tell Sidonis that Garrus is giving him a second chance. She's misunderstood. He has to get Sidonis out of here before he forgets why _at any cost _is too high a price to pay for this kill.

He closes his eyes and remembers what Ashley Williams told him long ago—that the humans' Devil was at one time an archangel.

**~finis~**


End file.
